Scattered Papers
by Witchmeister
Summary: In 1989, years after Ben had last spoken to her, she reaches out. She needs help.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey Ben, it's mom. I know we're not on best speaking terms, but a situation has come up with one of my engineers and she needs your help. You're fully capable of taking on a case such as hers. I've taken the liberty of leaving my contacts with your secretary at your law firm. Please get back to me, you're her only hope."

1 voicemail. A single voicemail on my home landline. The first words from my mother in so damn long, and it really struck me. Well of course it did. I wasn't expecting this. I was just supposed to come home to my tiny ass apartment, feed the cat, make tea and relax for once this week but it seems not only work has followed me home but my personal issues as well. I guess I can only avoid it for so long but, I, no. I don't have to accept her offer. Nothing's forcing me. Although if she did call this must mean something. Is it just an excuse to re-connect?

I stop and take a breath. My mind is racing far too fast for comprehension. Breathe, it's just a voicemail. She's just your mother. A mother you haven't spoken to in, years. I bite down on my lip forcing it not to quiver, not to cry. I won't cry, I can't cry, yet I think I am. All this over a voicemail.

"Ben, you can't run from your problems" tauntingly echo's my thoughts.

There is a case beside my mother. A job. A girl in need of help I presume. I've just closed, maybe I could, but it's most likely a case within the air force. Is mom still in the air force? Last, I heard she was. Ben, if you're so god damn curious than just consult her on what you'll be doing. Who you'll be defending. You don't have to say yes, but can I say no to her?

I grab my work book out of my satchel, dislodging all other paper and items that were once neatly packed in there. Desperately I flip through the pages and find the list of messages left by Phasma, Under Leia Organa Solo.

I dance around the numbers on the phone, still contemplating. I don't have to do this, yet without conscious thought her number was wrung and the phone was dialing. Each ring making my breath shudder.

"Hello? This is Leia speaking." Sung out from the speaker.

It took a moment. A long silent moment that seemed to span the years of silence, but I managed to choke out a simple "Organa?"

Hours go by in the seconds she takes to reply. My whole world has come to a slow. "Yes. Is this Ben?"

"Yes. This is Ben Solo."

"You don't have to sound so formal, I'm your mother for gods sake."

I'm laughing awkwardly, of course I am. I'm choking on the words desperate to get out and masking it, horribly.

"You did call about a case." Nervously spit out of my lip. Calm Ben, calm. "Speaking of, how did you get my home phone?"

Her laughter resonates, and weight starts to lift from my chest. "I am your mother, and I have my ways."

"That's not an answer."

"Well it's the answer you're getting."

My mind stutters about searching for a response. There's still an old instinct to talk back like a rebellious teen yet I decide to be respectful. I was never the best at fighting her and I'm on the spot, but thoughts are interrupted by her voice.

"How about I stop by your office tomorrow? I'll bring a file and context for us to discuss more. It's better than over the phone. Especially when you're off work."

I only reply a simple "okay" and she says a simple "I'll stop by tomorrow." And that was it.

We hang up the phone and a wave of heat and relief wave over me, overwhelming my senses. Did she feel this too? Internally I am crying yet somehow that resonates itself in laughs. Relief maybe? Whatever it be I'm consumed by it. I finally fall into the couch nearby, and let myself sink into it. Let myself get lost in it. For the first time it feels welcoming and comfortable. I should've done this when I entered my home, but was obviously distracted. God, I'm exhausted throughout. I can feel the ache of my mentality and emotions pour out in shallow tears on my cheek. Whether they are caused by joy or sadness is still unclear. All I know is that they're there on the cheek of the emotional ticking time bomb called Ben Solo.

Mind and body still exhausted, I pull myself up from the couch and drag myself into the kitchen where my long wanted electric kettle and array of tea awaits, as well as the diva of a cat waiting expectantly next to where her food bowl is. The simple things that I see daily, now different through the lenses of whatever has come over me. I switch the kettle on, set up the cup and indulge the ever-impatient Daisy. By the time the kettle chimes, bringing me to reality from wandering day dreams the overwhelming heat previously felt has drained. Thoughts of my past and future fade and blur just enough for me to focus on the present. Enough for me to hopefully sleep at night (I'll have a glass of wine to help). Somehow, I may manage to shut my brain up for 8 hours.

When I fall into bed that fantasy is not met. I lie awake, with the taunting purr of the white fur ball next to me as if saying "slumber has chosen me yet shuns your existence to suffer". But then again, she is just a cat. I doubt she can sleep maliciously. The true enemy is my mind, my thoughts and memories swimming around. They're not even coherent and clear, just an over whelming burning feeling of my past resonating through a physical ache and sting. My only hope for release is to just pray to some higher force that I will sleep. I must sleep to silence.

Through the in-coherent mumbling of emotions in my conscious a tenable cry rings through. The cry of a lost child seeking familiarity. Mom, mom, "Mom". It fights out from my voice. I beg to hold back the cry's. Cry's of a lost child from long ago, that were met with silence. Is that all I am? Still? Just a pathetic child crying out for help? Are the thoughts late at night simply the minds attempt to bully and succumb you with no distractions from the outside world, or is it un-filtered truth that I simply cannot face. Am I just denying myself? I shun away from diving further into my psyche. I abandon hopes to sleep, throwing myself out of bed in protest. I refuse to fight this tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

I dredge into work the next day, on fucking edge. Constantly I check the clock counting the seconds, minutes, hours as if I am counting down my last moments and I might just be. Each little inch of time is dragged out with my anxiety. To hell with that damn edge, I've fallen off the cliff into fucking insanity. The string of the reality I know is unravelling and falling apart all around me. Notes laid out once neatly now whirl pool and pull me down into my desk. It is then I let out silent fucking screams. My mother will stroll in and what? What will I do? Laugh, cry, yell, nothing, everything? What will happen? What will she do? What-

An electric buzz of my phone speaker brings me back to reality. "Leia Organa Solo and a guest have arrived. Should I send them up?"

Immediately I straighten and choke out a response. I can't remember what I said but it results in counting the steps down the hallway. My hallway.

My heart in it's rhythm so steady, seems to stop. Blood flows throughout my limbs, racing around me and the air filling my stressed lungs weighs me down to my world. My reality. For this moment I can feel all these so detailed I must be living my last moment, and the clicking of the door handle is the bullet that kills my shell. And my mother entering is my afterlife.

Her smile beams and baffles my mind. After all this time after all that's happened smiles a genuine smile. Why? Why do I deserve this? I'm so hypnotised by her that the figure behind is a literal shadow. It catches me off guard when a young woman emerges. For a moment I thought she was a ghost of my young mother fragmenting in my mind, though I come to realise that this girl is no fantasy nor figment. She's just truly stunning. Partially bringing myself back enough to introduce myself, still I find examining every aspect of the girl's existence in a simple "Hello, I'm Ben Solo."

She glances at my mother, seemingly confused. Is she curious about me? Or is she simply intrigued by my relation to Leia? She dawns a shallow smile before sitting in one of the chairs I gesture to. I try my best not to stare.

"This is a nice office for yourself. You've done well…"

My mother said that looking at me, into my eyes. Somehow speaking volumes like any thing emitted from her does. Her very being always spoke for itself.

"Thank you, that means allot. So, um," I trip on my tongue. "Why have you come to see me today?"

The girl beside my mother perks up and I get another long glance at her. Sun kissed hair loosely tied back, exposing her very pretty face adorned with small freckles so subtly accenting her slightly tanned skin. She's wearing a light blue button up. Or button down? Whatever the fuck it is, I'm trying to hide the fact I'm starting right at it. Look away Ben, you're borderline creep territory. Forcing a glance away to notice support from my mother, pushing her to speak up.

"I am," she sighs. "My name is Rey Jakken and I, I need a lawyer. Well obviously, but Leia said you're a good one and I really need your help. My livelihood depends on it." Her voice shakes, and it quivers my pulse along with it. I can't help but feel sympathy for her, but why?

I'm handed a folder from the older woman on my left, proceeding to open it and find the poor fate of Rey here before me. "I see." Is all I can mutter at first, in shock. "Rey, take me through your counter to the claims. Your reason of arguing the sanction."

"It's more than just a sanction," snaps out from her. It somehow manages to stab.

Through tensed muscles and a supportive hand on hers, Rey continues. "I joined the air force straight out of high school. I studied at an officer's college and directed myself towards engineering. I was posted to my current base 11 months ago."

I follow her words with care and dance my eyes over the pages given to me, matching each word sung from her. She has been accused of assaulting a higher officer. Senior Master Sergeant Unkarr, I'm not even going to attempt that last name.

"My Senior Unkarr took a liking to me very early on. He always went out of his way to touch me and call me sweetie. It made me un-comfortable truly but I put up with it. I never thought too much of it."

She stops to take a breath and I look up to meet her. If I'm lucky enough to have the same natural eye language as my mother I should be coming off as trusting, welcoming, understanding. But I am prone to things being lost in translation, and she shuns away.

"He called me to his office 4 days ago. You know I thought it was for a promotion or a posting, so I entered his office without worry at the time." her voice hitches and begins shaking again. "He immediately insisted on me drinking something he poured. I said no, but he persisted saying it's to celebrate, it's to celebrate. When I asked him to specify he'd just repeat 'to celebrate'. It went on like that for ages until he got impatient and grabbed my waist then said it was 'to celebrate me'."

I see small tears running away and her looking ashamed. I fight an urge bubbling up in me and stare back at the page of bruise marks lined on both subject's present. They show Unkarr with a bruised face and neck.

"Unkarr grabbed me and pushed me down onto his desk. He attempted to have his way with me."

And then it clicks in place, the story aligns. Without Rey even speaking more I can grasp the events that lead her to this. I could lie and say I have no personal incline to defend her, but I can only lie so much.

"Rey, I think I understand your dilemma. If you are willing, I will take on this case but, it will be difficult." I speak out, interrupting her. I've decided to spare her the shame of re-telling the events in detail. Rey seems to notice. Our windows meet, and we stare down into each other at that moment I continue.

"You will be asked to go into specific details repeatedly. Your privacy will be violated and on display. The defence will be abrading you constantly and you must remain calm. The main focus of the work I will be doing with you is consulting you and counselling you on how to not get too emotional. The best chance you have to win this is to detach yourself from these events."

I watch her take her time to indulge in my mild lashing towards her, yet she does not quiver. She stares back at me and nods. "What do I have to do?"

I skim through the file once more, suppressing passing possessive emotions to focus on the logical task. What Rey needs. Well luck for one, but also other things will be helpful and damming. I grab a blank paper and pen from my desk and scribe tasks upon it (poorly).

"An account of your side written fully. This will help me greatly. Be as detailed as humanely possible. I would actually encourage you to write it out with me, so I can press for details you might not think to add."

"Is that it?" my mother chimes in after long held silence. I almost forgot she was here I was so transfixed on Rey.

"No, but it's the best starting point. If there are witnesses from after the crime that may help. It may also aid in your credibility."

My mother points back to the folder I had temporarily discarded on the desk. "When Rey came to me she was with a friend. I photographed some marks that were left on her from Unkarr. They're in the folder."

I had already known of the photos, but the context brings fumes boiling out from me that I quickly supress. I must keep calm. I hand the poorly written paper to Rey, adorned with my contacts. "You can schedule a consultation with my secretary, I recommend sooner rather than later."

Eyes skirt along the paper before flying upwards, leading her body to follow them as if to match my previously leaning stature. Her eyes flutter between the two Solos, cueing my mother.

"Rey dear, why don't you go schedule with the secretary. I need to stay behind and discuss payment and other stuff like that with my son."

Their eyes dart to meet each other's issuing a quarrel of an instant. The result of which had Rey turning around and leaving my office without a word of farewell.

My face must have faltered enough to be obvious, at least to my mother. Our attention meets, leaving me staring back into my own eyes, our eyes. I hope I'm not crying. I'm probably crying.

I look away towards the door. "Don't worry about paying, I'll take care of this one."

"Ben, you're offering a service and I will pay, but you and I both know I didn't stay behind to discuss payment."

I won't argue. though I wish to, I refuse. It's not the damn time Ben. Pick your battles, you don't have to be a white knight for Rey. Not now at least. God, even when I'm standing face to face with my mother thoughts are circling back to Rey. The laps being run are beginning to exhaust my mental capabilities, and I have 3 hours left here at work.

I just tell myself to focus on my mother. Force myself to focus on my own problems now. I focus on the currently present woman, letting her to speak again.

"I've been meaning to reach out for a while now and this situation has really just pushed me into doing this. Despite all the time apart I know and feel your struggles. Though you probably can't admit it you're still connected to your father and I,"

And instantly words began to blur red at his mention. Why his mention? Mention him? The oxygen being compressed in stings now, the blood quaking. Fog falls over my being and by the time it lifts I can hear her words piercing through. Her ballad continues past that instant whether I understood or not. Next lyric I hear is "So I want to extend an invitation out to you" emitted from her.

"An invitation to what?"

I have a slight feeling I said something idiotic in her mind, something like so many men in her life would say as a way of admitting absent attention. Something she would, and is currently rolling her eyes at. "To flipping talk to your damn mother again. And maybe the rest of your family."

"Okay yes that would make sense," internal thoughts spoke out. The fog surrounding me masks my emotions. My embarrassment.

Mom just half heartedly smiles before leaving. Unlike Rey she had the courtesy to say goodbye and remind me I have her contacts. And now I'm alone. And really want a drink.

Okay, current plan. 1, call Phasma and check if I have anything scheduled. 2, If yes suffer. 3, if no the screw this I'm off to get wasted.

I ring up "Phasma, do I have anything scheduled later this afternoon?"

"Not scheduled no. Why?" chimes back.

Papers are hastily gathered and pushed into my satchel, leaving them to be dealt with later.

"If anybody stops by send them to Hux" was said as I tromped out of the shared law firm, determined to carry out my plans to fruition.


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, 2 shots of vodka now feel like a punch straight to the face. Did I eat today? I probably haven't since this morning, mind you that was a singular piece of toast with jam. Why the hell am I focusing on my breakfast? Oh yeah, vodka. Going to take the responsible decision and stop drinking now. Probably should head home and do mundane routine things but there's a persisting fur ball named Daisy I don't particularly want to deal with. I just would like to enjoy the time here. I can pull out my book and indulge in the exciting task of reading tipsy (seriously it's actually helpful to really immerse in a good book).

But as if on fucking que of me liking my current situation, a loud group of people casually waltz in as if to maliciously disturb me. Air Force people…

In curiosity of why the fuck these people are even here I start scanning the group. They're in a lump of no particular order, but a man of in-determinant race is first to catch my eye (and wink to me at said catching). Funny how I don't even need to talk to him to instinctually know he's a cocky prick. His wide movements and gestures show that explicitly. His attention towards me grabs the intrigue of the other gentleman, the teensiest bit taller African American guy. He doesn't look at me for long before his attention is engulphed into the smaller one of the two.

A short chubbier girl butts in-between them temporarily. I must admit, she is adorable. Her black hair is tied back in a tiny ass fluffy ponytail that leaves a few strands to frame the sides of her face. I would've checked her out more, but she subsided back to once again converse with a brunette girl. Oh fuck.

I watch as her head turns, throwing a knife into me. Into my heart as I'm left helplessly gazing into her. She leaves me dying for the third time today. Turn away, look away. But I can't. My eyes are sewn to her. I can't cut the stitching, but I can loosen it enough to hide my shame. To hide my internal screams and cries of a tantrum. Fuck, why here? Why now? Why her?

"What are you doing here?"

Too many questions, so few answers and I can only seem to reply, "I could ask you the same thing".

Not really understanding why she decides to, she sits in the chair next to me. She bothers to take her time to engage with me while I am very likely to be making an ass out of myself.

"I mean, shouldn't you be at work?" she chimes.

Now I can A) choose to be honest and reply simply that I have nothing else this afternoon and am very stressed resulting in me having a shot or B) be a dick. "I have nothing scheduled this afternoon. Shouldn't you be at work?"

Smart move Ben. Just looking at her face you know that you somehow managed to mix both previous options and be a total tool. You know why she's not at work, and you can feel how much you're hurting both people present. But you'll keep talking. Won't you? Increase your shame and hate yourself more. Because your education didn't really cover this bullshit.

I decide to look back at the freckled girl. Don't know why, I just like to look at her. She's in the process of shaking off my comment, proving I hurt myself more than others. "Is my case really that bad you drag yourself to a bar?"

I tell myself to shut up. I fight my tongue to not speak but that doesn't change shit. I vomit up teenage like rebellious attitude, burying myself deeper. Why the fuck did I think it was a good idea to say "Surprisingly, this isn't about you." Why do I then follow that with "It's about personal issues you're not entitled to." Ben stop. I beg myself. Don't do this to Rey. Don't do this to myself.

"Entitled to?"

I don't have to look at her to know the sting of it. Fuck Ben why? I can sense the droplets in her pools and how they burn out bright.

"I think I'm entitled to knowing why my lawyer is an absolute asshole, especially when he's handling a case so damn personal."

"You came to me for help, doesn't mean I owe you shit."

She (obviously being a wise individual who won't put up with my shit) turns around and walks away. Just like that, back to people who can treat her with decent human respect. Away from me. Giving me a reason to do what I fucking should have done ages ago. Go home. Go fucking home shameful of my own drunk actions. Barley keeping it together for the ten minutes in-between the bar and my apartment. The minute my door closes behind, I crawl onto my couch and attempt to smother myself. How many times can I die in one day?

Shameless cries finally scream out, and ache my existence. How is it I have made things worse for myself? I'm going to lose Rey. I'm going to lose my mother all over again. You stupid fuckwad Ben, damnit. Why, damnit why? My conscious thoughts for once begin to shut up, and leave me with the raw feelings pouring out in private. The pulsating pure drain. They take so much out of me, I'm left heaving and exhausted by the sheer amount of emotions. I'm exhausted. So damn exhausted I fall to black.

* * *

A persistent dull artificial ring is what wakes me. My damn landline is going off, droning in my ears. The temptation to just ignore it is my original intent. Yet something tells me to answer, an echoing familiar voice calling me. Said voice eventually persuades along with the desire to stop the ringing.

"Hello?" my voice echoes somewhere between drunk and hungover in a general haze. It's obvious but I can't be fucked.

"Well from what I heard you really screwed things up today."

Oh god, my mother's voice booms out as if I were a child again. Given my actions said tone is probably acceptable now. Doesn't make it less embarrassing and grading. If anything, context makes it more so.

"Trust me mom, I'm eerily aware of that" is all I can reply.

A sigh is translated through the space between us. We don't need to speak to each other to understand the weight and motivations of tonight. Her silence is somehow comforting and more harmful at the same time. Something a mother is naturally gifted at.

"Can you let Rey know?"

She takes a long time to reply but she does. "You can yourself. She's still coming in for that consultation she booked, and you better be damn charming and apologetic. It wasn't easy to convince her to stay with you."

Flutters emerge, and I quickly suppress. I choke out some sort of goodbye, hang up and let them loose. Fucking relief drops me down to my couch again. All I can do is laugh, but not genuinely. Just a hybrid of laughing and crying to signal my release of tension and stress. I am just really fucking grateful for my mother right now. Appreciating my second (closer to fourth) chance.


	4. Chapter 4

"Rey before we start I'd like to apologise for my actions a few nights ago. I didn't expect to see you and I kind of," no. Don't make excuses Ben. You have another chance to redeem yourself, don't screw this up. I keep trying, and repeating, and rehearsing yet I still manage to mess up. I wonder how many times I can repeat something expecting different results before being deemed criminally insane. That's one thing I don't care to remember from my days in law school.

I take a moment to breathe before repeating again, only to stutter as if my tongue has been tied in a knot. My frustration gets the best of me and I scream out in-coherent anger towards my bathroom mirror, most likely to be heard by my neighbors. Good. They Fuck so loudly they deserve some disturbance.

I'm tired at this point of trying with no results. Current plan, get a cup of coffee and pray to mysterious forces that I somehow manage to make a coherent human sentence of apology. Now a part of myself is thinking of putting liquor in the coffee to be more confident, that part is being mentally castrated and violently murdered. My coffee is going to be black as my god damn soul.

* * *

Rey's scheduled in at 11am. For the two hours in-between, the time I arrived into the shared firm I've been preparing. Mentally and literally since I have to actually do my work, preparing case files and evidence for Rey. Is she the type of person to show up early? I get the feeling she's the type to be ever so slightly late. But she'll rush over and be shambling in, showing she put the effort in to be on time. Her hair dishevelled from her complex up do (does she wear that often? I've only seen her once and she had one). I wonder what her hair would look like down. Is it long? I'm finding myself far more curious about her then I should. She's just intriguing, that's my justification.

And then she stumbles in, so accurately to my prediction I believed I was daydreaming. My heart drops in panic when I realise she's real. Apologise Ben. Make this right. I practice as she straightens and neatens her composure. Springing forward from behind my desk to meet her I prepare, I choke, I speak. "Good to see your arrival." What the hell was that?

I watch her eyes, they dart away, and I sense the aggravation. My eyes beggingly try to meet hers as a sort of allowance to speak again.

"About a few nights ago," Those words catch her and grant permission.

I sigh out after a deep concentrated breath. "My actions were in-excusable and I am truly sorry you had to witness it. I was overwhelmed that day, doesn't excuse my lashing out towards you though. For that I owe you an apology."

I wait. Am I supposed to say something more? Should I continue? Honestly her silence is creating a black hole inside my mid-torso that is consuming me. I am begging not to have screwed up. Begging not to show weakness I am not prepared to let loose.

"This isn't going to be a habit is it?" breaks the silence in her accent.

What? What habit? I'm confused. Do I signal I'm confused or do I just say something? My face is probably showing confusion, which is honesty spilling through.

"You're not going to be running off to a bar often. You're not an alcoholic, are you? I have enough issues on this I don't need you adding to that."

"No, no I'm not I assure you."

She looks into me, right at my eyes. It's disconcerting truly. As if she's going through a library and searching. She's reading. Why? Has she found what she needed? She's seemed to stop, is that my que to say something? I gesture to my desk and a chair I pulled up next to it. I internally pray that she takes it and that I have read the situation correctly.

When Rey sits down I relieve. She's granted me. I can be next to her for our designated amount of time. Close to her, my mind orbiting her existence. I find battling my stares an exhausting task only to be distracted by the pen and paper in my hand.

"I have notes on before the attempted assault, what I'll need to do now is write up your account of what we don't have."

We subconsciously skirt a complicated dance around the topic, the event, the actual damn issue. I know her reasons to be scared but what am I mentally trembling for? Why do I find myself shaken by not only of the thought of these implied things happening to her but also the stress I may inflict on her? The idea of her being distraught. Yet the only way to truly help her is to inflict this. She has literally asked for it, beckoned me to push her as her only hope.

"We'll have to,"

"I know."

Her eyes meet mine after her interruption. I can't argue, I just continue. We share mundane impersonal facts. Dates, times, etc. I still fight myself.

"Rey, take me through the events that proceeded." I state a command that almost feels like a question or a beg.

Her stance and demeaner changes and sets in place. Switching gears like something mechanical. Is she detaching? Patiently I wait in eons of silence, watching her carefully and mournfully. When she speaks, I don't dare look at her. I can't bring myself to. I note down.

"He was pushing me to drink something, insisting it was 'to celebrate' over and over. It went on for so long, or at least felt like it. Unkarr eventually got impatient, and grabbed my waist damn hard. He was gripping it and squeezing my muscle and ribs."

I continue scribing as she gives me a minute to catch up, or for her to breathe. She had been talking and describing slowly up to this point, but that last part her emotions ripped through and shook her voice to the chords. It was almost pitiful.

"He pushed me down onto his desk with such a force. His office supplies were digging into my chest and stomach, hurting me. I started squirming out of sheer pain. When I struggled he simply put more of his weight on top."

"Did you scream?"

"I tried so hard. His chest was pushing onto my back and forcing weight down upon me. It was crushing my ribs and lungs against the desk. I could barely breathe. My screams were so weak, yet he tried silencing them with his mouth."

I still can't look, but I feel. I feel every choke, whimper and silent cry. It brings an un-bearing heat flowing through me. Her description tightens my chest and clouds my brain with red. But I push on.

"One hand was used to hold me down, the other to fiddle with my jacket. Through his struggle he flipped me to face him, my back on the desk."

I look up when she starts using hand gestures, trying her best to show his actions. "He opened my jacket" was said with her hands dancing desperately. They almost distracted me from her.

"He started marking on my neck, and worked down to my stomach. He was sucking and biting me. They left marks. And that's when I kneed him in the abdomen."

I bite my cheek at this part. A feeling I don't recognise overwhelms me and fantasies run through my head I ignore. I do revel in the enjoyment of his aforementioned pain.

"When did you knee him in the abdomen?"

"When he was distracted with mine. It caused him to loosen his grip on me which I took advantage of. I pushed him off of me."

I grab the file once more and skim to the pictures of Unkarr. "How did Unkarr acquire these bruises on his face?"

A deep inhale proceeds "He came back to push me down again, I punched him with all the force I had before running out of his office."

After my notes reach her, our gazes fly upwards from the paper to meet. I smile a pitiful smile and feels hot pools. Are they mine? No, they must be hers. Or both? We finally break. We're both their sharing the relief of the end. There is obviously more to discuss, but for now we just sit in awkwardly relieving silence.

"What happened after you left the office? Where did you go?" I ask, breaking the moment.

"I went to go find my friend Finn. I found him in one of the smaller aircraft hangars. God, I was such a mess. I was frantic and crying like crazy."

She was laughing a bit while she said it. I can only imagine what she'd been like, and it's so disheartening. "Did he bring you to Leia?" Slips out.

"Yeah, he brought me to her immediately. Dropped all his work and everything."

She regards him well. She's beaming while discussing him and it's ravelling. I find a thick feeling of what I can only assume to be jealousy. My passive aggression seeps through. "He seems like a great guy." Her agreement stabbing.

Finn Smith, is written down onto the page. "I'll need to meet with him. He'll be a good witness along with my mother. Can you manage to get him here for a consult?"

I think back to the two men I saw in the bar with Rey. The black guy and the prick. I honestly hope she's referring to the taller one, the dark gent. My self confidence does not need to be challenged by a supposed asshole. The cocky little one who winked at me, taunted me. What would she see in a cocky guy like that? But, what do so many women see in guys like him? Like my mother and Han. Their confidence steals important women in my life. They both drive them away from me, bringing heat flashing through my veins that I desperately ignore.

She's not close to me. She's not important. Not mine. Remember that Ben.

In the time during my clouded thoughts Rey was calling Leia with my phone. She was trying to leave, get Finn, go home. Go away from me. I wonder where home was to her? Where it is now? The barracks? Safe in the arms of Finn? My thoughts begin stirring again, writhing and sparked by Rey and my long to keep her from running away again.

"Hey, um. Thanks for letting me use the phone. I don't really feel like walking to Leia's." splits my head, waking me.

"Why are you going there?" spilled out.

"Oh, I have been staying there. In one of her guest rooms. It feels safer."

Safer than near Finn? That little hope pushes through in small corners raising. A small victory for myself. Though she may be embarrassed at said fact, I revel in it. Too much honestly. I push away bubbling in my mind, for later. Now is not the time.

She comes to sit next to me as I'm compiling notes, looking over my shoulder in curiosity. I can feel her breath tickling my neck and I squirm, and it catches her. She smiles. Her cheeks swell and flush the delicate sun kisses of freckles on her face and I just stare, in awe. Professionalism be fucked I would do anything to see that again. If I was confident I'd do something outrageous, but I settle for subtly leaning in. I enjoy the small moment of shared heat radiating from her, feel a few strands brush against me, listen to her breath until my phone buzzes from Phasma. Our time is over.

I open the door for her and watch her glide down to where the front desk is. Watch her fade from view and be taken away. I say goodbye, again. To myself.

* * *

My previously hidden fantasies flourish when I'm back into the private chamber I live in. I beg silently for her. I want to see her more, but I'm trapped in myself. Only now I'm alone I admit I am weak for her. Someone who cannot, and will not ever be one who falls weak again. Not after. When I dream, I consume her existence. I hide her away. I fight to keep her safe and hold onto her like I'm a desperate child longing for love. So badly I want to touch her. I want to have more of our brief childlike intimacy. The yearning for her brings heat. Heat un-known of it's intent. It's driving me insane. She runs through me and sends me chasing in laps between sadness and anger. She leaves me guilty of my own thoughts, my dark desires. So badly I ache from her, for her. The mundane tasks I perform are plagued with her. It's always her.

She is the virus infecting my computer like brain.


	5. Chapter 5

There is a special kind of torture that only you can inflict upon yourself. Psychological. Inflicted solely through weakness. An infection that abrades immunity and leave me lying, with a ghost. One that remains faceless. Merely kissed skin dressed back with dark bundles of hair crowning the head. It sits aloof, tauntingly. Arm splayed in the valley of their form in which I attempt to graze, but no feeling is met. Not even the in-gulping comforter or firm mattress. It's as if my hand is in a void with only a sensation of mild heat. To which I remove. Replies are not given to my whispers. They're not given to my voice at all, or even my presence. The figment is merely a wall of silence and senseless mock shifting and steadily breathing as a human would, yet I know it's not.

I'm paralysed, metaphysically tied to my bed. Left to stare. I count each freckle, each mark, vertebrae, knot and strand of loose brunette hair laying upon the evanescent femme. Even in this darkness I can see so clearly, as if I revolved around her. She hauntingly glows through. I imagine. What would I sense if she were real? Would the skin be soft to the touch, or course from all of life's harshness? What is she like? I beg to know.

"Rey?"

She turned and responded to my call. The dream of Rey. I can clearly study and acknowledge the rest of her face, yet the eyes are what draws me in and captivate my attention. Fear swells through and the droplets forming act as a string that ties our thoughts. We're both terrified, the dream and I. The hallucination that pools hazel and drowns me.

The gaze is too much. Not tonight. Not ever. I shut myself off, regain my strength, douse weakness and turn away from the ghost. I mirror the previous wall of silence and senseless mock. I murder this hallucination for good.

* * *

Eventually I must have dozed off, since I wake up into my normal life. The ghost of Rey now replaced with a white Maine Coon decorated with black spots. Said large cat somehow managing to push me to a sliver of my bed. Whilst I reclaim my bed I decide to pull the Daisy close, burying my face in her fur. I envelope in the warm purring teddy bear, whom is lavishing in the attention. This interaction has been surely missed by both of us. Her large breed is not overwhelmed by all 6ft 3" of me luckily. I thank god today is a day off. I let her purrs lull me to sleep. I'm reminded why I am a cat person, maybe I'll get a second one soon. Before I can fall to sleeping in more I make the mistake of thinking again. Not anxious or deeply provoking, just simple thoughts of the possible things I can do in my day off. My mother crosses my mind.

Maybe I should visit her? And another thought crosses, Rey is staying with her. I split in two. After last night, I am drawn closer but repelled at the same time. I go back and forth while getting lost in the foggy memories. I can't perfectly recall, but the un-pleasant haze re-surfaces. Her eyes push through. The connection. I continue listening into the lulling purrs while letting my memories twist. I use my mind to manipulate my small interactions with Rey to be sweet and affectionate, to convince.

I decide I will call later, then decide to call soon instead. I am pulled into the temptation of hearing her voice and having an excuse to see her, but I manage to restrain past a cup of coffee and a feeding of the cat. I carefully plan out my conversation while making a minimal bowl of electric kettle oat meal. By now my livelihood depends on said appliance. I bide my time through any mundane task I think possible, and eventually dial the number for my mother's home landline.

1 ring, 2 rings, 3, 4, "Hello?" Rey's voice stuns for a moment as I manage to panic in a millisecond.

"Uh, hi. Is Leia there?"

She's silent for a bit. Most likely caught off guard by me of all people calling. I know, how shocking I'd call my own mother.

"Oh. Um, No. No sorry she's not mister solo- "

"Ben." I scream internally at my stupid interruption. Was it stupid? We're not in a formal environment but was that too obvious? Will I scare her away?

"Sorry Ben, she'll be in and out all day."

In a brief moment I sigh, having to refigure my plan. A million thoughts pass through but are quickly interrupted by inane mumbling speaking through the phone.

"What was that?" I ask.

"I was saying you could probably pop by and see if she's around, and if not, you could probably wait I guess."

Cue my shaking almost pubescent voice half-heartedly agreeing. We somehow managed to hang up through babbling of "I'll stop by" and "See you then".

I look down to witness a smug looking cat, helping me realise that holy fucking shit I did it. I managed a successful human interaction with Rey. I have arranged to see two women who unnerve and challenge my very thought of regular mental livelihood. Way to fucking go, now get your shit together.


	6. Chapter 6

I've managed a bit of self-discovery through my ventures in nervous preparation to see Rey. 1, I don't own a lot of "casual" clothes. 2, that in itself really goes to show how social I am. 3, the casual clothes I do own are all shadows. 4, I'm thinking so much into this it feels like I'm 15 again. Lonely thoughts included.

Never before did I care so much about my appearance. Now I'm combing my black mop of bedhead, shaving, and bathing with a smidge of self-loathing and depreciation. Brings a radiant grunge that is so fashionable these days. Only Rey would get me thinking of fashion like I know what it is. She's also one of the few people who will drive me to well, drive. I have to. Damn that girl.

Annoyingly enough my mother lives just past the city limits (must be for air force reasons) in which I know I will get lost. Very fucking lost. So lost that after about an hour of trying to find her area of residence I was doing what any sane man my age would do. Hum a song of encouragement, later escalating to inane words in a raised voice. Now I am beginning to regret my decision of not sleeping in. My body is starting to desire sleep and the dull hum and rock of the car is not helping. Yay for sleep deprivation.

I continue persevering to final avail. I find her mother fucking street, to which I turn into. I count the numbers building up to her area of residence. 2142, 2144, 46, 50, etc. etc. until finally, I find 2156. I sigh out a wave of relief, and I give out my last fuck as I pull into her driveway, parking.

I don't go in immediately. I first rest my head on the top of the steering wheel, preparing. Mentally preparing. When I decide to look up I notice the front curtains shuffling to reveal a bit of pink fabric behind. I have been spotted, but unknown to whom. Still, I push open my door, lock it, and attempt a leisurely stroll to the front door. Once again aware of how much I am thinking into this with hazy, sleep-deprived paranoia. A knock later and the door opens immediately. So immediate the person had to have been waiting at the door (possibly for the specific reason to shock me). Said person being Rey. As if I wasn't shocked enough she sends flutters through me I not only do not recognise but despise immediately. Once again, damn that girl. I feel so helpless and tight. Desperately fighting to not look is being overwhelmed with her. She's wearing pink bunny slippers for god sake, and a sweater (or hoodie I think it's called) to match. She's actually really cute in her casual attire. I hope I'm not blushing.

"Oh hey!" she says with a shy smile.

It's nice. I actually really like her smile, however, it has blindsided me for a response. Sort of like the ctrl alt delete for my social functions. I am stunned, and I somehow muster a weird wave to stall while words decide to cooperate.

I stumble out "Hey Rey. I uh, came to stop by and well I called earlier."

Cringed motions were combined with awkward chuckles. Though she has seemed to laugh, I have inflicted physical pain upon my being (and probably hers too). Why can't I human?

"Sorry Ben, your mother's not here." Chuckled out half-heartedly.

A few thoughts briefly birth from her statement. Oh fuck. Fuck, what now? Fuck, I don't want to turn back and fuck her saying my name kills.

"Would you like to stay and wait for her?"

A part of me lifts. Well yes, Rey I would, and I don't even need to speak to confirm that I can just nod. Great way to prevent saying anything damn stupid. Also, great that it's a leeway to follow Rey into my mother's house.

"So, I have to finish up a bit of stuff. You can make yourself a cup of coffee in the kitchen and hang about."

She pointed to a small, non-cholent kitchen during her spiel. Though the thought of a hot drink sounds nice, my attention is more set on her. I fight hard not to look at her too much. Of course. I instead end up gazing intently while she walks to her workspace. An attempt of continued look over a weird platform division thing while removing my shoes was not successful. By the time I finish said task, I peer up to the back of her head. Sadly, unable to see her blue denim jeans anymore. I mentally slap myself for that thought.

Taking careful note of shoe placement (thank my mother for ingraining that habit into my brain that now refuses to die), before I proceed with nervous caution into the house. My aim lays in the general direction of the kitchen but is distracted by the environment around me. I didn't grow up here, in this house, but I can understand and evaluate how this is my mothers. Just the colour scheme and décor remind me of her. Little thing like the wood she chose, the specific flora, composition radiated my mother's taste, with very few familiar pieces. The only item I can recognise is the couch by the kitchen. That in itself is eerily nostalgic. She's had that item for ages Jesus (I wonder if it still has the dogs puke stain). I brush the oh so pleasant thought of dog vomit away as I enter the kitchen, searching for a kettle of some kind (praying it's electric). I struggle for a while and search as much as I can without disrupting too much of the layout (also an ingrained habit). I still don't find it. The search is disbanded a few minutes later when I re-direct towards the living room, following a low ambiance resonating. A soft, yet forceful song playing and ringing. The strum of my own nerves as if they are strings of a viola. Manipulation upon my own thoughts. Birthing foggy fantasies. Drawing me to approach closer and find the ambiance growing, clear enough to understand that it is music.

Soft cassette piano keys playing out. Rey must've turned it on to aid in her focus (and my admiration for her). Oh, how I wish to approach, but find myself too shy. I just sit on the old couch and admire from afar. I see her side form from a diagonal angle, watch her work away, let old memories vortex around and dream of new ones. Though bittersweet, the bitterness is one I can accept. It aids in heightening the sweet. Heightening her.

My eyes lay upon Rey, yet are immune to gazing. I feel pleasant and right. It feels heavy. Just giving up seems tempting but I struggle. Nods to jolt back are my only ammunition to continue her presence. I struggle with relaxation and drowsiness until I can no longer. The prospect of comfort smothers me away.

* * *

Why do I feel hot tears upon cold cheeks? This abstract plain confuses me and blurs my vision. Looking out is just a haze, and I'm lost in raw emotions. So painful they bring physical agony alongside mental. It's warm, but only as it's corrupted love still with residual heat lingering as it dies. I know this feeling well. It once has, and may still plague me.

Standing on my feet, I'm still blinded and disoriented. I feel shudders, pokes, jabs at my chest and it drives me. I'm building up. Memories of Luke, Leia, and any other past figments cloud. Drained of all I have. When they approach, I desperately dispute my past. My only weapon left being slowly worn down I become defenseless. Aggression, grudge, and regret can only do so much. Still, I cannot let go. They have made me.

I yell out in defeat, in anger. The last resort to riot against my fate so far in life. Begging to have what I know I cannot since I was a mere child. The warmth has died. Do I want to die with it? No. Laws of reality break and I find myself falling, though I no longer care. I just accept and surrender. My eyes open.

Calidity surrounds in a form of a fleece cocoon. In obvious confusion, I search surroundings to remember where I lay. First thought is that my mother had returned and wrapped my sleeping form. Do I face the harshness outside this layer of insulation?

"You're up?"

I turn to see Rey at the kitchen entrance, flustering my surface. Still in pink, still an illegal drug to my life. Strolling just past, she takes a seat next to me.

"Is my mother here?"

Shaking head is my reply. It takes a moment to realise that if I didn't have the blanket on previously then Rey must've. Resonating and bringing despised helpless emotions. I foolishly look over to her, and we lock eyes. When she smiles over her supposed coffee cup I hope to muster a reply equal to hers.

"So, rough night or just someone who sleeps allot?" Smirks out from her.

While cockiness is not something I'm fond of, she, of course, makes it annoyingly charming (though still infuriating). Now the question remains, how do I answer? It's not like I can plainly say 'I dreamed about you last night'.

"Rough night." Was my chosen answer.

A puzzled look sprawled on to Rey's face. Eyes darted about and it was clear her thoughts were running about. Her face is stern, yet kind of soft. I admire it.

"Nightmare?" Intrusted my fascination.

Nodding is the only reply I can muster as some curiosity shot through me.

"That's an odd coincidence."

"How so?"

"I had a really fucking weird dream last night too. I dreamt there was a ghost in my bed."

Once again, I have difficulty releasing responses as shock befuddles me. This is now getting bizarre. Did she and I dream the same dream? Was it a dream? Did she see me or, what the actual fuck? Ironically, I feel myself turn pale as a ghost. Do I tell her? No, maybe? Awkward silence accompanies conclusive reasoning. Through this, my eyes meet with Rey's. Deciphering her language without words is something that has now come naturally. We have some understanding. I think at least, though doubt still present.

The topic remains un-spoken and lays in that constant state. I wait for conversation to start, unsure of my abilities to start one of my own. When she starts one, I become unsure if I'm thankful.

"Why are you stopping by to see your mom?" finally breaks the silence.

"Uh, just to catch up. It's been a while."

I immediately regret that last phrase, alluding an invitation for Rey to dig into me. One which I had accidentally given.

"Why is that?"

"Reasons."

Memories. Feelings. Things I hate emitting, haven't emitted.

"Why do you blame them?"

I snap. I suppress. Has she read me? She doesn't know. No? Rey has no right. Ignore the flashes, Ben. Let go of the coursing, boiling blood Ben. Rage. Ignore. Look away. Ben, I'm losing control. Blind haze of red is taking dominance. I just turn and stare, invoking medusa.

"You know not what you speak of." Is stated plainly from my lips.

Agitation is shared, and tension turns different. The old pain felt is enough to make me fall to the ground in defeat, but I desperately mask. Silence is our chosen language. The foggy dream plays out again and cries long to force out. Rey why? How does she dare?

"Don't do this again. Ben, you shouldn't blame your parents for misfortunes. Be damn grateful you fucking have them." Reanimates my past. The hollow.

Lonely orphan girl I can't understand. It's easy for you. My turn to search through her library of memories arises but I retreat. We are not too different, yet she stubbornly refuses to see complexity and past black and white. She does not know.

I decide to let the heat subside and avoid, physically retreating out the front door. Reasons my own self hides. Morphing into a pile of bones upon the first step, I concave. Blindness is self-inflicted upon choice now. I don't want to sense. But I cannot fully shut off, merely my eyes. Wind and cold still brush against me. Cooling, freezing. It's only felt for a fleeting moment before something radiating attempts to re-animate.

"I'm sorry." Is said before a head rests on my shoulder.


	7. Chapter 7

My past is something of mine that refuses to die. Something that no matter what, I manage to do wrong by it. In it, I am a manifestation of flaw. As if my past was a pot of water I had ignored and left it to settle. My mother started the heat to boil, and the only way to prevent boiling over was to put a lid on. A lid that Rey always seems to remove.

I am left raw. Heat of my being is there but also the dull hum that drains my brain function. Somebody's leaning on my shoulder, but I don't care. I am left in my own head, feeling every inch of emotion fade into a painful numb. The replaying images sting.

Everything is a blur. Spinning, nauseating, sickening, I'm trapped. A door closes on my face as arguing seeps through. He's in trouble again. I don't bother staying close to them, I retreat as always. This time it's different. It's too much. It's-

"I have actually met your parents. Both of them."

I freeze. How odd is it that Rey can bring me back to cold November air very simply. With merely a sentence. A truly puzzling sentence at that. When did she meet my father?

"I met him in-between his parole." Answered.

My head falls into my hands which mould and wither my memories, emotions, facial weakness, etc. I disregard the lean on my shoulder. Of course, she brings up more sensitive topics. The sensitive topic. Selfish prick who disregarded my life for his own gain. Does she see him like that? No, she saw a man who had been wronged and betrayed by his own son. My breath shakes.

"I realise that I see versions of them you probably never will." Was said without looking. We came to some sort of auric agreement.

I retreat back to my mental space as we wait for something, anything between for progress. Though none does. Only progress made is time. The physical silence permits for one to speak, and I decide to.

"What was it like to be an orphan?" spouts out idiotically. "If you don't mind me asking."

Cheeks swell against my shoulder, and I look down to a solemnly smiling brunette. Badly I want to kiss her worries away, and wipe her swelling eyes. She turns me into a babbling pathetic romantic. Sadly, by social obligation I am constricted to fantasies.

"Exhausting."

"How so?"

"You fight every moment. You fight to live past your circumstances, you fight to live in general, you fight with the foster care system, and fight with all the other foster kids too. You fight other 'normal' kids since you're an easy target, you fight for the same equal chance everybody else gets, you fight for food, you fight through exams without help and support, you fight just to live a normal life and when it's all done you're still fighting. You still fight because you're behind everybody else, and you feel like you're eternally playing catch up with the world around you."

Adrenaline pumps through the two of us and in our brief moment of silence I can hear heart beats. I look down at her, but she's too scared to look back. So much of her song resonates and harmonises with my own that I just awe. I want to tell her, but can I?

When her caramel orbs decide to meet mine, she seems weak. Words of comfort are what I should say, yet none leave my tongue. I just stupidly share her moment. Sitting side by side, on my mother's porch, looking into each other's eyes like the dumbfounded teenager I once was.

"What was it like having parents?"

"It's different for everybody,"

"I know. But for you?"

" _ **You need to go away."**_

" _ **Why do problems always seem to follow you?"**_

"Exhausting."

Fighting through the constant arguments, mishaps my father stumbled into, the constant change of scenery and familiar neglect. Off hand comments they thought I didn't notice that still seep into today. Truly, we were victims of circumstance and desperately we all fought. I think my mother was the only one to walk away with minimal scars. Both literal and metaphorical.

Those are the words I wish to speak, to relay. I just can't bring myself to flourish them and when I think I may muster courage, brief blinding light shines from an un-known source. Rey abandons me to meet with the light, now realising it radiates from headlights. Now I come to realise how frigid the night air is. Somehow, I long for her more. The figures in the dark meet clearly when the lights die. Do I give up and go home? After I've come so far? Truly and pathetically I am tied between more social torture in fear to break polite pre-determined rules or to dare to step outside these barriers.

I rise from my stance to torture as I watch shadows come into the light.

"Oh Ben! I didn't know you were coming! I would've been home earlier."

I chuckle out "I called earlier, but I must've just missed you" awkwardly. I look up to see Rey smirking next to my mother, and I indulge in sharing it. God help me if my mother notices (which she probably will).

"Gosh I'm sorry. Come in and I'll prepare some dinner. It's the least I can do." Was said before she began subtly pushing me in through the door with her.

She's obviously attempting to murder me. Why else would she be adamant about me eating her poison. Eerily I'm not exaggerating. Her cooking is so bad it is almost literal poison. It has the ability to murder taste buds into dependence onto her food. That's how I convinced myself why my father kept eating it. She would only logically poison me on purpose or through un-intention. Whatever it may be, I am dawning closer to it.

Mum sits me back on the couch, when I turn to look back at Rey. She's still at the entrance beckoning for something. Her gestures and whistles frantically call something that waddles quickly through the doorway, being closed behind it. It, referring to the troll like booger of a dog. Can you call it a dog? Daisy is as big as that ugly mug. Side thought, when did mom get a dog?

I hear giggling above my focus that turns into "I guess you're more of a cat person?" from Rey.

"That obvious?"

Nodding while giggling. How does she make that look easy? When she goes to sit down I notice that she has her bunny slippers on once again. I take my time to analyse her more whilst her attention is on the mutated canine. Rey's hair is more dishevelled and strands away from falling down, her eyes seem drowsy and heavy, and in general I think she's just tired.

"Ben? Can you help me for a quick bit?" calls out from the kitchen.

Eyes wrench from Rey to my mother, for my body to then follow to where she is. She points to something and promptly I follow the un-spoken task but before I can retreat she chimes up again. "Not so fast star boy, I still need you."

" _ **Why do you call me star boy?"**_

" _ **Well for one, I like it. And also, it's a play on my families' name."**_

" _ **Would you please stop calling me that? Everybody picks on me for it..."**_

"Uh, yes mom?"

Stern look, going to get a lecture, pray for mini lecture, don't interrupt, etc. Standard procedure.

"Don't be so fucking obvious while staring all googly eyed at Rey." Cues my flustered flushed face of nervous shock.

Even when she looks down to do something dinner related I can see her smirk. The pleasure she takes from this is one that has long been dormant. Cowering back is my only safe option while I plainly follow her instructions. To my relief, she isn't cooking. Merely heating and setting up a pre-prepared meal. The relief is unbridled.

"Go set the table with Rey please."

But before I leave the kitchen, "And don't stare like an idiot" of a warning is muttered my way.

When I enter the area where the dining room is (as well as living room and desk space in this massive main room) Rey is still bemusing the smiling little dog demon. When she notices my presence, I make a nodding gesture to the table. She hops up, and comes to join me setting the table. We don't talk. Simply we set different parts parallel from one another. It's almost like a weird dance that I still suck at.

There is this brief moment where we wait in silence before my mother brings in the store-bought potato salad and chicken something or other. Being the skeptical paranoiac, I am, careful analysis of my food must be done before I can trust it. Rey is opposite of that. Her words of being an orphan shine through her ravening of her plate, much to my horror. My stares usually through affection, now are simple bewilderment. Focusing on my plate in my brief escape, thoughts and hypothesis of Rey float through my head while I finish my plate (slower than Rey, faster than my mother). Theories of mine that should be kept internally and locked away for even I, like every man am prone to pervertish thought.

Pairs of eyes gaze up to meet each other before darting anxiously back down, with my mother finishing her meal as the cue for Rey to bolt up and collect the plates. I am already flustered, but when she leans over me to grab my plate and stack I find heat swarming. I honestly want to leave. Badly. With my mother here, it's just awkward teen years repeating.

"It seems like my welcome has been overstayed, and honestly I need to get some stuff done." Is my half assed excuse to leave.

Rey looked over from the kitchen when I said that. Don't know why but, it was a fleeting reward that pre-requited my goodbye. I left shortly after. I got into my car in the dead of night to further get lost on my way home.

2 hours of mindless thought was the prologue to my stumble back home.


	8. Update

Hi, this is your friendly neighborhood author with a small update. I haven't given up on this fanfiction, don't worry. However, with a new semester, I am taking allot more courses while working nightshifts (so I can pay for a flight back home to friends and family). As such, I don't have as much free time to spend writing and editing. I still aim to and plan to finish this story. I just want to thank you all for your patience.


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